Day two and another blog. This won't happen much. Not sure if I will even continue with this. I have nothing to say. Church this morning - it's Sunday - and I had so many thoughts. Not necessarily about what the pastor was saying, but many thoughts. Now I can't remember any of them. I thought, at the time, that they were interesting - not now. But I never think what I have to say is interesting.
We (Paul and I and Danny for part of it) watched The Decendants last night. It did bring back a lot of feelings and memories of my late husband, Ron, and when he was sick from a cancerous brain tumor and died. Nine months of hell is what I like to call it. The day our world turned upside down was February 14, 2003; that was the day the doctor told me the diagnosis, and I could see in his face what it meant. Nine months later, my husband and life partner, the man who was a witness to my life, the father of my children, was dead. Turned our lives upside down and backwards and every which way that I had not even thought to expect. I guess I will talk about it here. It has affected the rest of my life and the way I look at things. I am remarried now, and life is not what it would have been, but it is good again. It was interesting to watch the movie and know what the character might have been feeling. To have friends cry and be upset, and to be angry that they don't seem to know that this changes my life MUCH more than it changes theirs. To have relatives act as though this was so devastating to them, and thinking, "How much more devastating to me and our children this is, how selfish of you to think YOU are devasted!!" I know, it was insensitive of me not to realize that they were hurting too. Or maybe I did realize it, but I felt I was hurting so much more. Not just for me but for my children - they were losing a father. I prayed that God's will would be done and that the best for my family would be realized and would come to pass. So when Ron died, I had to know that it was the best for us. How could that be?
He had a temper. What would it have been like for him to be the disiplinarian raising teenagers? He shot a pellet gun at Jason, his older son from a previous marriage, because he stole some money from us, from a jar or something. Jason was 12 or 13 at the time...maybe 14. The pellet went between Jason's legs and Ron said he knew it would not hit him. I often wondered. Then there was the time that he tossed a table knife in my direction when I was holding and trying to quiet Chris as a baby. Ron was watching hockey and the noise of the crying was too much for him. The knife lodged in the door. He says he knew what he was doing and knew it would not hit us; but I often wondered. I would not leave the kids alone with him when they were really young. Not until they could understand directions and do as they were told. I feared that he might lose his temper; I didn't want to find out if he would or not. I wanted them to grow up with their father. Well, I guess they did until 10, 13, and 16 at least.
He never hit me or abused me or the kids. I think I was just afraid that he would since he had such a temper. He did throw things though, broke things. He was jealous and somewhat controlling - I let him control me. We all make choices. I let him control what I did. I had no friends really; I couldn't spend time with them. He would get jealous and angry and yell and say I was cheating on him, but I never did. Till death did we part. He loved me, he loved his family, and he provided for us well. He also had PTSD - Posttraumatic Stress Disorder. He was in Vietnam. I wish I had known the criteria for PTSD way back when; I think I would have insisted he go to counseling and get help. So many symptoms - he would not talk about Vietnam; he avoided crowds, didn't really like to go to gatherings, had trouble sleeping, perimeter checks, drinking, changing jobs every year, couldn't handle loud noises such as popping balloons, and more...
But that is done. I have guilt. I have guilt for not seeing his disorder and helping him; I have guilt for not being there more for my children when their father died; I have guilt for not being stronger. I don't want to have guilt anymore. I want to let go of it. I want to know my kids will be okay and that they forgive me for anything I did or will do to make their life difficult.
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